Contemplative Thinking
Anna Iltnere
31/05/2011
Chris Sharp (1974) is an American-born art critic who has lived in Paris for some time now, but is now concentrating on traveling. He's the editor of the art magazine “Kaleidoscope” (est. 2009, in Milan) and its associated blog; he writes about artists. Thanks to the initiative of the contemporary art center kim?, Sharp visited Riga for the first time last week. Arterritory.com had the opportunity to meet with him over coffee on a sunny, but windy, terrace, and talk about contemporary art, art criticism, the apocalypse, the iPad, the role of art magazines and even plans for old age. It was, in other words, a kaleidoscopic conversation.
Which do you prefer – being the interviewer, or the interviewee?
I haven't been interviewed a lot – just a few times. I've only prepared two or three interviews. I tend to avoid it.
Why is that?
It depends on who you interview. Speaking about artists, I'd rather read about critical reviews of their work than interview them. I have a feeling that when I do an interview, I pass the workload on to the artist. But in today's culture, there is so much available information. In that sense, an interview seems like a rushed way to go about preparing material. Instead, you can sit and read, and write a critical answer to the artist's work.
What hides behind the word “contemporary” today?
Just recently the internet magazine e-flux published an article by the British artist Liam Gillick (1964), on the term “contemporary”. He sees it as an out-of-date term that has become a marketing tool. Modern-day marketing constantly pushes what is “now”.
Do you agree with him?
In a sense, yes. I agree with his proposal to replace the designation “contemporary” with “current”, and to say “current art”. I suppose it is necessary, because later it may prove to be problematic delineating, for instance, when did contemporary art begin – at the end of the 1970's? “Contemporary” is too broad and ambiguous a term. I think that first of all, it is important to separate today's art from post-war modern art, because substantial changes have occurred in that time.
Do you have a formula for a good review of an exhibition?
Good question. I'm still looking for it. In terms of their construction, reviews are rather formal. The basic formula is to begin with information about the artist – when and where he or she was born. Then you have to describe what can be seen in the exposition, so that the reader has an idea what the exhibit is about. And I like it if at the end, the author writes about the exhibition from his point of view, states his opinions, judges it critically. That seems more interesting. Although, there is a group of writers who, since the 1960's, have maintained that our task is only to describe the exhibit, say what has been put on view. There are different schools of art description, such as the magazine Art in America, which publishes only descriptive reviews of exhibitions, without comment on whether they are good or not. But I prefer a critical view; I like to read what the critic thinks about what he or she has seen. In addition, one of the ways of finding out, and stating, an opinion is not just by direct critique, but by the way in which one writes. I believe the text must be subjective. With the use of language you have to try to allude to whether the exhibition is complicated, or just the opposite – simple. I like a lively writing style, where opinions are stated. And that is rare.
These last few years there has been a lot of discussion about the evolution of art criticism in Latvia – there's a shortage of good writers and the genre of critique needs to be improved.
I think that is very problematic in Latvia, because the community is small. A shortage of critique in small countries is emblematic – you don't want to offend your neighbor. I've been to other small communities, like Portugal and Australia (which is not small, but everybody still knows everybody else). Such conditions delay the evolution of critique; the descriptive style dominates. But I do still believe that it is crucial to write critically. It forces people to be responsible about what it is they do. Reflection encourages real participation in the development of art. Various periods in art history have been defined by strong critics. One of the finest examples in the US was Clement Greenberg (1909-1994), who, in his way, instigated today's art history. There are many other figures, for example, Hal Foster (1955) and Craig Owens (1950-1990), who greatly influenced the twists and turns of culture.
Does the artist need art criticism?
I think, yes. That would be blessed. But at the same time, much has changed since the time when powerful critics influenced direction. There is no more real avantgarde – that is, opposition to the culture isn't the same as it used to be. Society is different, too. Many illusions have been destroyed, such as Marxism. But I, nevertheless, believe that it is important for the critical voice to be heard.
But in this changing culture, has the role of the art magazine changed as well? What is its role today, and what sort of purpose does “Kaleidoscope” see for itself?
Every art magazine today chooses their own slightly different role. Their main function is to collect information on how artists' ideas are circulating. “Kaleidoscope” tries to inhabit a very distinct niche among other art magazines. There are many mainstream art publications, such as ARTFORUM and Art Review:; they're good art magazines, but they have a very general perspective – without goal-orientated guidelines set by the editors in terms of how to reflect the contents. And then there are publications like Texte zur Kunst or May, October, who try to encourage a certain way of thinking about what is going on; they develop a certain perception.
“Kaleidoscope”, in my opinion, lies somewhere on the border between these two concepts. It's a mainstream magazine, but it's structured very purposefully – according to the editorial board's chosen theme for the issue. Each issue has a main theme, which has four articles devoted to it. There's the column “Monograph”, where an artist that corresponds to the theme is chosen; there are then three articles on the artist, as well as the artist's portfolio. In the newest issue of “Kaleidoscope” (which will come out this summer) we're covering pop-art – the way it is seen today, in pop-culture. “Monograph” will be devoted to the British artist Mark Leckey (1964), who spends a lot of time with the “pop” legacy. I think that in this way, “Kaleidoscope” tries to influence the given art field, to define the culture's outlines.
When and how did you begin to work at “Kaleidoscope”? I understand the magazine is only two years old.
Yes, in March it turned two. I came to “Kaleidoscope” thanks to a very close friend – Simone Menegoi, who recently visited Riga with a lecture at the art center kim?. He's been part of the editorial board since the beginning. When “Kaleidoscope” was established, there were city-editors – in Berlin, Paris and London, and Simone proposed me as Paris editor. There are no longer city-editors, and I've become the magazine's editor-at-large – I feed ideas. I'm not in Paris that much anymore; I've begun to travel more. I'm also the editor of “Kaleidoscope's” blog. I wanted the blog to become the magazine's critical supplement, because the print edition has a theme, corresponding articles and a monograph, but there is no review section. Also, the magazine only comes out four times a year and it's important to stay in our readers' memory.
A publication like that can't compete with the flood of information on international contemporary art. That is reason enough, in my opinion, for “Kaleidoscope” to expand in terms of critique and to delve deeper into the relevant questions.
Do you agree that due to the dominating nature of the internet, printed magazines will in time resemble regularly published books? In other words, interesting to look at even years later, because all of the information that deals with current events is increasingly being published on the internet, rather than in print?
Yes, that's a good observation. I'd say that magazines are increasingly resembling journals. If a magazine wants to have some power over the present by publishing that which is important right now, then, similarly to the French publications May, October, the content should be mostly made up of critical and analytical articles that develop a theme, but are not closely related to fleeting current events. The internet is becoming a place for publishing much more fluid and changing information. That is also why I wanted the “Kaleidoscope” blog to become a place for critique that is devoted to current events – reviews of exhibits, as well as art events in other countries. To encompass information not only on what is happening in the art world, but also on the marginal aspects of art, such as design, books, etc.
Will the iPad be the death of paper?
Definitely!
?? The usual reply is just the opposite – fearing the death of printed publications is premature and unfounded.
I think that the format of printed books will diminish in importance. In time, they will become these special, pleasure-giving objects. There will be an emphasis on books as objects of design and art, rather than sources of information. We are becoming increasingly mobile. I just came back from New York and I had to take about 20 books with me. The feeling was quite ridiculous; I felt anachronistic, lugging them all. Uploading an iPad seems much more logical. First of all, it would be much better for my back, as well as the environment.
The word “beautiful” – does it still function in the dictionary of a contemporary art critic?
That is a loaded question. (Laughs.) “Beautiful” is a descriptive with an ever-changing content. What was beautiful yesterday is not what is understood as beautiful today, and it will be something else tomorrow. The art critic's job, in my opinion, is to not use such words, but to think in a more analytical, encompassing way – to “unwrap” a specific work of art or exhibit.
However, I still think that if an exhibit is good, it is beautiful.
What is the most beautiful work of art or exhibit that you've recently seen; what left you with the strongest impression?
A few weeks ago I saw Michael E. Smith's (1951) exhibition in Detroit. To say “beautiful” would be unconventional, because his art consists of damaged objects – plastic or cloth that has been eaten away, ripped canvases. But what he does has an apocalyptic beauty to it. In New York I saw the exhibition of the Texas artist Mark Flood (1957), which, in my opinion, was brilliant. It was displayed in the gallery's windows – four windows, four panels, a different title on each. The first panel said “Do the math”, the second – “Millions will die”, the third – “Billions will die”, but on the last one – “You will die”. (Laughs.) In my opinion, a successful commentary on the overall obsession with The End of the World in today's culture. Beginning with the latest predictions about Armageddon, to ecological catastrophe, economic collapse, nuclear meltdowns, etc. Not to mention Hollywood movies. There is no more utopia, no future, no past, there is just an intensified concentration on the fleeting present.
Do you have any all-time favorite artists?
Felix Gonzalez-Torres (1957-1996) would be one of those artists to whom I turn to time and again; his art never lets me down. In the last three years I've been very influenced by the French artist Jean-Luc Mylayne (1946), who is one of the most interesting of contemporary artists – a photographer and sculptor. He creates things for which people have yet to find an appropriate language to describe them, including me. He's a complete pervert in the most interesting way – not in a psychopathic way, but in a way that makes you think about the body and how it can be represented in objects or pictures. And then there is an artist who people are just beginning to talk about – the Polish artist Alina Szapocznikow (1926-1974), who has recently been rediscovered. Beginning September 10, a major retrospective of her work will be shown at the Wiels Center in Brussels. Next year it will travel to the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles and to MoMA in New York. She mainly worked as a sculptor. Her work is about the female body, about our relationships with the body. Lately, she is one of those artists that I think about quite often.
When did you fall in love with art? And when did you begin to write about it?
Like many young people of my generation, at 20 years of age I was really into Mark Rothko (1903-1970), who was revolutionary for the time.
But in my youth I wanted to be a novelist. I read a lot of literature and attempted to write short-stories. I started writing professional art critiques just six years ago – after I had been living in Paris for some time already. So, this role is still relatively new for me.
In your short visit to Riga have you managed to see anything of Latvia's art?
I'm here for the first time and only for three days, but the contemporary art center kim? has made the biggest impression on me. What Zane [kim? Director Zane Onckule – A.I.] does and invests is admirable. I saw the exhibition that is on now at kim? – works by Darja Meļņikova and Kaspars Groševs [both exhibitions will continue until 19 June – A.I.]. They surprised me. Both of these young artists are very contemporary, on a world scale, and well-informed about what is current in the new direction of conceptualism in Western Europe. I'd say they're already working in it.
Do you ever think about what you will be doing when you're really old? Still writing about art? Or maybe you don't think so far into the future?
Of course, I think about that sometimes. Yes, maybe I'll still be writing. But I tend to see myself as an old man writing novels.
Can an art critic become an artist?
Yes, and it happens often. I know a very promising French artist, Lili Reynaud Dewar (1975), who used to be an art critic. I'll concede that critics could become very good artists. (Laughs.) It is also interesting when artists become art critics. Sometimes they are more qualified to write about art than anyone else.
